


I Lost a Friend

by Insertpoetryhere



Series: The Greatest Grief of All [2]
Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Funerals, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Modern AU, i intended it as a platonic thing but it can be read as romantic, mentions past character death, misplaced blame, self blame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insertpoetryhere/pseuds/Insertpoetryhere
Summary: Hanschen remembered what Moritz had said; That Ernst would be fine if he failed. Now Hanschen realized it was true. Ernst would have been upset for a little bit, but he would eventually be fine. He would make tons of new friends at whatever public school he was sent to, and he would hang out with the rest of the group on the weekends. Eventually it would feel like nothing had changed.When he helped Ernst, he might as well have just shot Moritz in the head himself. It would have saved the other boy a lot of grief and effort.
Relationships: Hanschen Rilow & Moritz Stiefel, Hanschen Rilow/Max von Trenk, Hanschen Rilow/Moritz Stiefel
Series: The Greatest Grief of All [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883284
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	I Lost a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> How this was written in easy steps:  
> 1.) I watched DWSA and saw that Hans and Moritz sit next to each other  
> 2.) I listened to FINNEAS  
> 3.) I got writers block for everything else  
> 4.) I got sad  
> 5.) I realized I hadn't tormented Hanschen in a while  
> 6.) I wrote this  
> No beta, we die like men

Hanschen didn’t quite know how he had kept a straight face during the ceremony. He had managed to look bored, like the casket in front of him had just been a minor inconvenience instead of the final resting place of the boy that sat next to him in class.

He dropped the flower in the grave. He didn’t look at anyone while he did it, he just scowled and stared directly at the area right underneath his hand. It was just a solid mass of dirt, a wall of earth that had probably remained completely untouched until now. He liked it because he didn’t have any attachment to it. That dirt never made him laugh in class, or came over to his house when they were little.

Hanschen had made a list of people that he refused to make eye contact with the night he had gotten the call from Ernst that the search party had found him. It was the very first thing he had done. No crying, no anger, he just jumped right to acceptance.

Martha Bessell. Under no circumstances was he to make eye contact with Martha Bessell. She was unfortunate enough to watch as the boy she loved was slowly lowered into a hole in the ground, which was a feeling Hanschen Rilow knew all too well. He didn’t want to see what her face looked like when they did.

Ernst Robel. The boy who had taken the 60th place in their class. The boy who he had helped cheat on the final exam. Ernst sat right behind Hanschen, and Hanschen knew that it was between him and Moritz for who was going to take the final spot in the next grade. Hanschen had looked over at Moritz’s test and saw that he was actually doing well. He suddenly had remembered Ernst, and he carefully took the staple out of the corner of his test. When the teacher wasn’t looking, he dropped the paper on the floor and used his foot to kick it back a row. 

Hanschen remembered what Moritz had said; That Ernst would be fine if he failed. Now Hanschen realized it was true. Ernst would have been upset for a little bit, but he would eventually be fine. He would make tons of new friends at whatever public school he was sent to, and he would hang out with the rest of the group on the weekends. Eventually it would feel like nothing had changed. 

When he helped Ernst, he might as well have just shot Moritz in the head himself. It would have saved the other boy a lot of grief and effort.

Hanschen also wouldn’t look at Herr Stiefel, though for very different reasons. He had sat next to Moritz for three years, ever since Ivan Ranger had dropped out when they were 12. He had always known something was wrong when Moritz would fiddle with the end of his button-up sleeve on the hotter days when their teacher permitted them to ditch their uniform jackets. Most boys rolled their sleeves up to their elbows on days like that, but Moritz never did. Still, Hanschen could see the bruises on his wrist.

Melchior Gabor. But that was a non-issue. Melchior Gabor hadn’t bothered to show up. His mother was there. She had come with the letter Moritz had sent her only a few days prior. Hanschen figured she had meant to read some of it, but when it was her turn all she could do was look down at it and cry. Hanschen was glad he would never have to know what that letter said.

He didn’t want to look at Moritz either, which worked out fine. The ceremony was a closed casket, so he could pretend that it was just an empty box and not the boy who used to be his friend.

“He was no son of mine.” Herr Stiefel spoke and the crowd, who had already been quiet, all looked to him. Hanschen tried not to look, but he had to see what Herr Stiefel’s face looked like as he said it. There was nothing there, just a stone cold frown. Hanschen thought he might have seen a tear forming in the corner of the older man’s eye, but Herr Stiefel turned away before Hanschen could tell for sure. He pushed past the crowds of people and then he was gone.

“Always one for dramatics.” Herr Rilow muttered just over Hanschen’s shoulder.

He heard his mother laugh a little. “Like father, like son I suppose.” She put her hand on Hanschen’s shoulder, and he wanted nothing more than to tear it away.

The pastor stood stunned for a moment before he motioned for one of Moritz’s uncles to go after him and then continued his sermon. He made his claim that Moritz was in hell, and Hanschen hoped that if there was a god, he had taken some pity on Moritz. But with every word spoken by the pastor, Hanschen started hoping that there was no heaven or hell. He hoped that Moritz had gotten what he wanted and was simply just gone. Just so that the boy would never have a chance to know how little the town seemed to think of him.

Otto and Georg were whispering things to one another and laughing in a way that they must have thought was quiet. Members of the clergy looked down at the casket, like it was a stain on the community that they were happy to be rid of. Thea was frowning and tapping her foot like she couldn’t wait for all of this to be over.

Hanschen didn’t understand it. Moritz lacked a lot of things; He wasn’t smart, he wasn’t incredibly handsome, and he wasn’t overly kind either. But he wasn’t bad.

He may not have been good at school, but he did like to read. Hanschen was once pretty surprised to find that Moritz was a fan of Mary Shelly and Oscar Wilde’s works. He liked reading. He was even good at reading, picking up little details in Faust that even Melchior hadn’t noticed. It was reading in Greek and Latin that he struggled with.

Moritz could also be witty when he wanted to. He wasn’t a comedian or class clown by any means, but sometimes on the days where he was simply fed up with the teacher or his family (or sometimes fed up with his “friends”) he would answer questions with a bit of snark. Sometimes it would even make Hanschen laugh. In those moments, he could see Moritz light up a bit with confidence. Those moments, however, were few and far between. 

Moritz may not have been handsome, but he was by no means ugly either. He was cute in the sense that he was starting to grow into his looks. His hair was always messy, but when he did style it he almost looked attractive. Even by Hanschen’s often-too-high standards. In fact, Hanschen would be lying if he said he had never once found Moritz’s crooked smile a little bit endearing.

And he was kind in a sense. He didn’t go out of his way to help those less fortunate, but he also wasn’t blind to the needs of others. He would lend notes, books, pens, and even the jacket off of his back to anyone who needed it.

“It’ll be fine, just take it!” He had said to Ernst, who was nervously telling them the story of how he had spilt something on his school jacket that morning. “We’re the same size. Plus let’s be real, jacket or not Sonnerbitch was going to find something wrong with my uniform anyay. If I’m already gonna get detention, it might as well be for a good cause.”

Hanschen supposed that anyone who Martha was interested in had to be kind in some way. 

He was good. Maybe not entirely good, but no one could ever be perfect. He was still too good to burn in hell for this one mistake. Hanschen stopped listening. He didn’t want to hear this slander anymore.

The crowd dispersed, lucky enough to forget this ever happened. Hanschen’s parents watched as Hanschen stood still by the grave, not ready to go just yet. Once he left, he knew that he was expected to be done mourning, which he hadn’t even let himself start yet.

“Hanschen,” His father called. “Let’s go.”

He still didn’t move.

“Hanschen, enough with this! You barely knew him!” Mother interjected. And it hurt, mostly because she was absolutely right. Hanschen had known Moritz since they were five, and yet he barely knew him. 

I felt it rising now. There was a tightness in his chest. He knew that if he did not think of something quickly he would have to go and face the crowded reception hall where the disingenuous mourners were gathering to celebrate like it was someone’s wedding or birthday, and not the funeral of a 15 year old boy.

“Uh, my stomach hurts.” He said quickly, turning to face his parents. He was specifically looking at his mother, who was somehow the more sympathetic of the two (not that hard of a feat). “I feel like I’m going to throw up, may I-”

“It’s alright, dear.” His mother smiled at him, a kindness that is reserved only for her child and not for anyone else’s. “Would you like us to drop you off at home?”

He knew that saying he would walk would not help his case, and would most likely end with him at the reception anyway. So he agreed to the car ride, sitting in the back seat silently and pretending to be in pain.

The moment he closed the front door and heard his parents pull out of the driveway, it hit him. He fell to his knees, hugging his own torso and sobbing, like if he did then maybe Moritz would come back. There had to be something left to hang on to him with, there’s no way he could be gone.

He had to be somewhere, he couldn’t- he wasn’t allowed to be gone! Heaven, purgatory, some weird afterlife waiting room, reborn as something new, anything! Hanschen started to wonder if Hell was even that bad compared to the alternative! Nothing ever went Moritz’s way, not for as long as Hanschen had known him! He couldn’t be gone!

It hadn’t been like this when Max died. Hanschen had at least known that it was coming. It hurt, but he had at least been prepared in some way. He watched as Max slowly faded away, and while he hadn’t been ready for him to go at least he knew it was happening.

He had seen him on Friday. He was supposed to see him again on Monday. He had accidentally taken Moritz’s notebook, and he was supposed to give it back to him when they went back to school. Moritz was going to be there, he still had to finish the semester! There was still the chance that maybe someone would get expelled, or drop out and move him up to 60th place! It wasn’t over, he still had time!

Hanschen came back to reality, remembering Moritz’s notebook. There had to be something in there, anything that might have some kind of answer. Something that could clear Hanschen’s conscience.

He scrambled up, pulling his backpack off of the couch and rummaging through the pockets until he found it. Just a blue spiral notebook, the cover of it full of doodles of cartoon characters and a few of their friends’ names graffitied all in multicolored sharpie. Hanschen wasn’t sure why he had ever mistaken it for something that would have belonged to him. 

He flipped it over to the first page, which was just full of notes from their first semester of the school year. Hanschen could barely focus on the disjointed notes on math and science with all of the doodles in the margins. Moritz must have liked stars, because he drew them a lot. 

He flipped through some more and found the notes from their weekend study groups. On top of the doodles from moritz, there were also entire conversations between him and Ernst mapped out in two different color pens. Hanschen couldn’t quite follow it, but it still made him smile a little.

He should have just stopped there. He could have gone his entire life not knowing the things he would see as he kept flipping. He could have pretended like Moritz’s death was out of his control, like it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t kill him.

But instead he kept flipping through the pages. Slowly, the doodles began to disappear. The notes he was taking became more frantic, and Hanschen saw the things Moritz didn’t understand and realized that they were things he knew. They were things he could have explained.

He kept flipping, until he finally reached a half full page. It started off with what looked like someone’s homework, and then it abruptly ended with the words “fuck it!” written in large, messy handwriting. The pen ink and the lines on the paper were smeared and the paper was water stained. 

Hanschen stared at the page, touching it gently like it would fall apart if he put too much pressure on it. The notebook was only half full…

He should have slid the paper to Moritz. Ernst would have been fine, Hanschen could have helped him through whatever he was feeling. He and Ernst were close, Ernst had a support system.

Hanschen hugged the notebook, the top edge of the pages brushing against the bottom of his chin. He cried and whispered apologies as if Moritz could even hear him. He wanted Moritz to hear him. He wanted Moritz, if he was anywhere, to know that someone missed him.

But it felt so empty. How could Hanschen miss a friend that was never really his to begin with?

**Author's Note:**

> "Poetry, was this supposed to be musical Hanschen or play Hanschen?"  
> Your guess is as good as mine.  
> also i don't actually blame Hanschen for Moritz's death. I just wanted to write this from his perspective with a whole bunch of my own hcs.


End file.
